


'cause you're like caffeine

by mulkki



Category: Inazuma Eleven, Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Gen, M/M, coffeeshop AUs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-05 01:01:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mulkki/pseuds/mulkki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>silly coffeeshop AUs, with different characters and points in time here and there</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i'm still a sucker for 1) these two, and 2) gay coffeehouse AUs. i'm so sorry i will probably regret this later
> 
> also this is hella self-indulgent and pretty sure it is like. physically impossible, or against all laws of nature or somethin for shindou and ibuki to get along at first meeting. yeah.
> 
> (title shamelessly stolen from yoseop's "caffeine")

Ibuki doesn’t even like coffee.

It tastes like burnt crap straight-up, like milky burnt crap with milk, and only with enough sugar (to probably give him a disease or something) does it even taste _decent_. He’s only here because he’s built up an immunity to his usual cans of Red Bull to get him through finals week--and if chemicals won’t work on his sleep-deprived brain, well. Might as well shock it awake by scalding his tongue with something disgustingly bitter.

He’s too busy being grumpy at how hard it is to find some friggin’ cash in his pockets (he hasn’t slept in a while, okay?) to notice it’s his turn to order. It isn’t until a voice ‘ahem’s at him he notices; behind him, a sorority girl in sweatpants and uggs mutters something under her breath and rolls her eyes.

He walks up to the counter, still rummaging through his pockets.

“Can I take your order?”

He stares up at the board, and even though he sees the same damn board every time he comes here he still has _no idea_ what 90% of the drink names mean. The growing line of grumpy people behind him won’t give him any leisure to read the descriptions, so he just goes for the one he can pronounce.

“I’ll, uh, take a medium coffee.” It also happens to be one of the cheaper options that the $2.91 he found in his pockets will get him. It isn’t until he hands over the money that he gets a good look at the barista, having been too focused on the menu in a foreign language.

...He forgets to let go of the money, hand remaining mid-air--he’s also forgotten how to carry out normal customer-cashier interactions. He also forgets about the line of semi-murderous students behind him, and doesn’t register the confused furrow of the barista’s eyebrows over his (really pretty... red? brown? what color is that anyway) eyes as anything else but,

“...kinda cute”.

The barista’s face changes from “confused” to “what the hell,” and Ibuki realizes that he just did something very, very embarrassing. Like, “just go fucking bury yourself in a hole because you are screwed even more than you are for your finals”-kind of embarrassing.

He hurriedly coughs ( _the fuck’s wrong with you, Munemasa?!_ ), trying to pretend he didn’t just blurt out something incredibly embarrassing. “K-kinda... cold! Yeah, it’s a little chilly lately, don’t you think?”

The barista clearly doesn’t buy Ibuki’s bullshit attempt--he’s maintaining a straight face, but Ibuki’s pretty sure that deadpan expression is actually thinly-veiled disdain. Still: Ibuki can’t help but notice the sweep of his long lashes as he glances down, and the soft curly hair he tucks behind his ear as he marks a cup with Ibuki’s order. And he can’t stop himself from admiring those long fingers, and the delicate curve of bone on his thin wrist as he sorts Ibuki’s crumpled bills into the cash register. So much so that he doesn’t realize--

“--you should pick up your drink from the bar over there,” the barista warns him, now not bothering to hide his annoyance. “It might get cold,” he continues (but his voice is the coldest thing here). “In the middle of June.”

Yeah, it’s the week of finals before summer vacation; but Ibuki’s in Siberia here, having doomed himself in front of the cute barista (whom he now had zero chance of scoring with). He slinks off to the pick-up area, shoulders heavy from a combination of 1) wounded ego and 2) trying and failing to see a solution for how he just screwed himself out of any chance of getting his number.

He sneaks a glance to the barista’s apron; he could at least find out his name. Baby steps, Munemasa--gotta start somewhere, right?

\--------

Later that evening he manages to keep himself from faceplanting into his textbook, but not because he manages to get any studying done.

_…”Takuto”, huh._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i tried writing characters i haven't done much of, for practice and just because i do like these two. hehe
> 
> i'm sorry for selfishly making them not soccer players. m(_ _)m

Someoka isn’t used to these kinds of coffeeshops.

He’s more of a white-mug-on-a-Formica-counter-kinda guy, with extra-dark brew that’s been sitting in a machine making coffee since the crack of dawn (from back in the 60s, probably made coffee longer than he’s been alive) in a diner he’s visited for years--it’s a no-frills kind of place run by good, honest people. It’s got everything he needs, too: a quiet, comfortable place to have a hot mug with decent company that makes the coffee taste a hell of a lot better than it actually is. And it’s such a regular fixture in his morning routine now, damn if he’ll willingly change it anytime soon.

“Willingly” is the key word, Someoka thinks, as he walks to his regular diner one snippy morning and finds it “closed for repairs”. “Damn,” is what he thinks next after he rubs his eyes and realizes he is _not_ still half-asleep, and after that is a string of very choice expletives as he realizes _why yes_ , he _has_ been robbed of his usual morning coffee in his usual seat in the diner at his usual before-work time. And no matter how much he wishes he were hallucinating, there the words remain, hung on a glass door revealing the dark, uninhabited interior.

Someoka aims a vicious kick at a nearby rock.

“Ah, yeah, you noticed, too?” A patron--one of the regulars he’d often see--speaks up from behind him; Someoka hadn’t noticed him coming up (because he was busy Wyvern Crash-ing another rock).

“Diner’s closed,” Someoka finds himself saying, mind blank despite the fact that the lack of lights and people make it painfully obvious. He makes a half-hearted poke at a pebble with his toe, watches it roll weakly, and sighs.

The regular puts a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. “I know, I know… it’s a real shame. Coffee could’ve been better, but Old Man Aida and company sure made for a good start in the morning.” They both share a chuckle at that--coffee made for a wake-up call, but it really was the company that made the mornings _good_. “Well, they’re only closed for repairs. I’m sure they’ll be back up and running in no time.”

Someoka grins--of course Old Man Aida can’t be held back for long. “Yeah. You’re right. Just gotta stick it out ‘til then.”

“Until then, good luck.” And with a hearty thump on Someoka’s back, the regular leaves him to ponder where the hell he’ll get his coffee now.

\---

He’s not used to these kinds of coffeeshops, he thinks, for possibly the billionth time as he stares up at the menu with way more drinks than should reasonably, _humanly_ exist. Coffee is just coffee, right? What the hell were those javacchinos and these frappasmoothies and, dear God, how hard was it to find just a regular cup of joe to get him through the day? Not to mention the _noise_ , hell, with these kids on their phones and the whirr of the blenders making their fancy-schmancy smoothies and the people behind the bar yelling out customers’ names. How were the customers supposed to hear their names being called through the racket, anyhow?

So it’s surprising when a soft, gentle voice cuts through the din and reaches him. It’s like.

Like. (How to put it…?)

It’s… _weird_ (but not in a bad way) that such a pleasant sound is coming from this coffeeshop, and even more amazing is how it’s actually managed to reach his ears without fighting over the volume. 

...That’s not the issue here. He looks in front of him, toward where the voice came from, and oh, he’s at the front of the line. Facing the cashier. Crap, what’s he gonna order?

Someoka scratches his head. “Um… you wouldn’t happen to have just a regular cup of coffee here, would you?”

The cashier chuckles and smiles; and Someoka’s no poet, but _damn_ , it is the most... angelic (er, something like that) laugh he’s probably ever heard. (Seriously, just listen to the guy’s voice.)

“Well, we are a coffeeshop, I’d hope we have some coffee lying around.” He’s joking, but it’s not malicious at all. Instead, it makes Someoka laugh as well; he feels his brows un-knit and his shoulders relax.

He chuckles along with the cashier as he pulls out a couple bills. “Then one medium coffee, to go.”

“Cream or sugar?”

“Nah, just black.”

“Coming right up--can I get your name?”

Someoka blanks, fidgeting with his wallet to get his change in there. “Um.”

The cashier laughs in that easygoing way again. “Need some time?”

“Haha, nah. I’m good,” Someoka says, tucking his wallet away. “It’s Ryuugo.”

The cashier scribbles on a cup and sets it aside. “Your drink will be ready in a bit.” And there’s that smile again, in that voice (seriously, someone get him a voicing gig): “Thank you, I hope you have a great day!”

And somehow that smile and that voice really sound like they _mean_ it, and they lift his spirits a little (a lot). Whaddaya know, maybe this day won’t be so bad.

Someoka smiles. “Thanks, you too.” He peers at his nametag. “--Shirou.”

Shirou breaks into a wide grin, eyes drooping to the side to match. “You’re welcome. Come again anytime!”

\---

Back out in the morning cold, Someoka takes a sip of the coffee. It’s warm, and isn’t half bad. Actually, it’s a pretty damn good cup of coffee.

He takes another sip, filled with the warmth of the coffee and the warmth of the noisy coffeeshop and the warmth of Shirou’s voice. Maybe he should stop by this place more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a super-duper crush on miyano if it weren't obvious. sorry. o(-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one day i'll write something other than these two TT^TT
> 
> (another self-indulgent college aged au, i'm sorry)

Ibuki’s first shift at the coffeeshop doesn’t go too well.

But to be fair, he thinks, it’s not all his fault--in fact, he’s _pretty damn sure_ that he could have done a lot better if the guy who was supposed to “train” him wasn’t, well, a giant asshole. And a snobby pole-up-his-ass. And a bag of dicks--

“--wait, he doesn’t even look like he’s got a dick.”

His roommate looks up from his magazine, single eyebrow visibly raised from across the room. “Should I be concerned about the fact that you’re talking about a dude who is possibly dickless?”

Ibuki fumbles with the bottle in his hand, almost dropping it but managing to not spill (much); it’s a small comfort after a very messy (in more ways than one) day. “Fuck, Matatagi, you gotta stop doing that.”

Matatagi raises his eyebrow further. “Doing what?”

“That… thing. Where you sit there all quiet and then scare the shit out of me with some question out of nowhere.”

Matatagi flips a page in his magazine, voice nonchalant. “Well, I’m not the one talking about dickless dudes here.”

“I-- fuck, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Ibuki presses a hand to his forehead. “I meant that the guy doesn’t even look like a guy. He’s too, I dunno, fucking _pretty_ or some shit. Looks like he doesn’t have balls. And he acts like a c--”

His roommate just turns another page. “Mm-hmm. Well, it sounds like to me you wanna find out.” He takes a bite of his popsicle. “And maybe more.”

Ibuki groans, turns in his chair, and slams his head into his desk. “Matatagi.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

Matatagi just snickers. “Looks like someone’s a little too focused on dick.”

 

\----------------

 

To be fair, the first shift could have gone a lot better.  
It mostly started off with introductions, with the routine “hi-my-name-is-Ibuki-I’m-a-second-year-blah-blah” kind of stuff that usually pops up. Most of the other workers at the coffeeshop were around his age, and some he recognized from seeing around campus. He situated himself pretty quickly, and was soon making drinks (the simple ones, for now) like it was the most natural thing. So far, so good.

It all went straight to hell around when they decided to have Shindou, the one who’d been working there the longest out of them all, show him how to work the more complicated orders. Ibuki was feeling pretty good about his work on his first day, and figured he could handle it; he wouldn’t need too much help, and how hard could making coffee be?

“I mean, it’s just coffee, dude, you don’t have to be so uptight about it.”

Shindou stopped measuring out espresso and syrup and looked at him.

“I mean, how hard can making one of those drinks be? I’ll figure it out later when someone orders, so let me take a break.” He’d been at this for four hours already, he could use one.

Shindou put the cup with the half-made drink down. “Ibuki, I’m taking the time out of my break to teach you how to make the drinks; if this were something simple to make I wouldn’t feel the need to do this.”

Well, no one had asked him. “Maybe you don’t.”

Shindou narrowed his eyes. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t need to spell shit out for me like I’m gonna screw up for sure.”

Shindou’s eyebrows knitted. “I’m not doing this because I think you’re going to ‘screw up’, Ibuki. This is just a part of your training.”

Ibuki crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need the training. I’ve done pretty well so far on my own, okay?”

Shindou stared at him, not saying anything for a while. Eventually, he pushed the half-made drink in front of Ibuki. “Okay, then, you should be able to finish this drink with no problem.” He took off his apron and headed to the back room. “You remember where I left off, right? Unless you were too busy mouthing off.”

Shit. Um.

( _It’s okay, Munemasa, you can figure it out!_ )

While Ibuki was trying to process what happened Shindou’s head peeked back out from the door, with his hand loosening his tie. “By the way, if the drink doesn’t taste like it’s supposed to by the time I’m back, you’re on toilet duty for the rest of the week.”

“What the hell? Why?!”

Shindou scoffed. “Because we can’t have someone who can’t make drinks at the bar. I’ll cover your hours at the counter, while you handle toilet duty until you learn to make a decent drink.”

“Yeah? Well, prepare to eat your words because I’m gonna make the _best goddamn drink_ you’ve ever tasted.” Ibuki slammed the cup down to emphasize his point.

...Which was a mistake, because it sent the mess of espresso and sticky syrup all over his face, hands, and floor.

Shindou sighed and gave a pitiful look at Ibuki. “I’m not going to have to taste it off the floor, am I?” He threw a rag at Ibuki. “Clean this up and remake that drink. I’ll be back in five to check on you, try not to wreck the store in the meanwhile.”

Goddammit, Ibuki was gonna make the best drink and wipe that condescending look off his face--

  


\-------

  


“--So, how was toilet duty today? Is the seventh day in a row giving you any new outlooks on life?”

“Matatagi.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be a dick.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> small slice-of-life-esque thing that i just kind of wanted to try out. just a coffee date, nothing special
> 
> other than the fact i love inazuma break trio to pieces (and i'm trying really hard to branch out and write characters I usually don't)

“Hey, Kidou, I’ve been wondering for a while…”

“Hmm?” Kidou put his cup down--it made a tiny _clink_ against the saucer. “What is it, Endou?”

Endou took a long sip of coffee--his own in a plain paper cup. “You always get those tiny ex-presso things when we meet up for coffee.” He set his cup down, knocking over a few of the scattered emptied creamer cups to the floor. “Ack, oops.”

He stooped down, reappearing from below the table with a handful of creamer cups. “Are those good? They seem really bitter, and they’re so small.” He set his handful down on the table, next to the sizable pile of ripped sugar packets.

“You missed one.” Gouenji set a creamer cup on the table, next to Endou’s pile.

“Oh, thanks, Gouenji!”

“No problem.”

Endou turned back to Kidou. “Right, what was I saying? Oh! Yeah, your ex-presso habits--did you pick it up from when you were in Italy?”

Kidou set his cup down again with a slightly louder _clink_ , cup now half empty. “Endou, it’s ‘ _espresso_ ’--there’s no ‘x’ in the word.”

“Ah, really?” Endou scratched his cheek, laughing. “Oops.”

Kidou cleared his throat. “To answer your question: I suppose yes, I probably did pick it up in Italy.” Kidou took another sip. “Coffee is a big part of the culture there.”

“Huh, that’s amazing--you can drink that bitter stuff, with no problem.” Endou reached for another sugar packet. “That’s our Kidou, so grown-up.”

“Endou.”

Gouenji put his hand on Endou’s arm, stopping him before he could open the sugar packet. “I think six sugars is more than enough.”

Endou looked at Gouenji’s arm, then to his own coffee, then back to Gouenji. “Ah, I guess you’re right.” He put the sugar down. “Natsumi always tells me I shouldn’t add so much sugar, too. Though I don’t know how you guys do it, drinking coffee with no sugar or creamer, it’s so bitter!”

Gouenji took a sip of his own coffee--likewise in a paper cup, but plain black. “I don’t mind the occasional bit of milk now and then. But maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

Endou crossed his arms, cocking his head. “Natsumi said the same thing, but I don’t know if I can ever drink black coffee regularly. Though, she’s more of a tea person.” He chuckled. “You should see her in the mornings before she’s had her first cup.”

Kidou and Gouenji shared a look.

“I can imagine.”


End file.
